


A Dozen of Eggs

by reikoseishin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dubious Biology, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Graphic Description, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, OOC Sherlock, Slight reference to Norse legends, Valkyrie - Freeform, Wingfic, Winglock, erotic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reikoseishin/pseuds/reikoseishin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is regretting letting Sherlock talking him into carrying their clutch. Eggpreg, mpreg and egg lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dozen of Eggs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fanfic in a long while. My writing has gone rusty but it feels good write again. In the midst of the amazing return of Sherlock series 3, I felt that we are in need of more JOHNLOCK fic. I always wanted John laying eggs ones and unable to find any, I decided to write one. Well, there can never too much pregnantJohn fic IMHO.
> 
> Let me know if I accidentally left out any tags. I tried to tag as much as possible.
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read. Please feel free to comment and critic.
> 
> Warning: Not beta'd and brit-picked.  
> Warning: Eggpreg and egg laying. Stay away if you are against this kink.

John writhed in pain as another contraction gripped his swollen abdomen. He could feel the first egg dropping lower into his pelvis as his muscle worked to push it out of his body. He was going to bloody kill Sherlock for misleading him into agreeing to this. Slight discomfort indeed. Now he could appreciate the efforts human females put into childbirth since the process seemed similar. Why did he allow the man to impregnate him was one matter but how did Sherlock manage to convince him that labour was easy was beyond him.

Speak of the devil, the consulting detective appeared and crawled into their nest, bringing much needed water to his mouth. John drank gratefully. He has been in the throes of labour for the past 8 hours and it seemed as if his body refused to progress further past the 1st stage of labour, if he could call this labour.

“Why the fuck did I agree to this again? Why can’t you carry the fucking clutch and deliver the eggs?”

“Shhh, John. Calm down, you are working yourself into frenzy and that is not helping matters at the moment.”

“Sherlock!” John bellowed but his body calmed down at the velvet voice. Hot hands palpated his body and his large abdomen, smooth and swollen with the clutch he had been carrying for the past 4 months. A hand wrapped around his half-hard shaft and pumped slowly, sensually, as a naked lanky body plastered itself to his back. He turned back and was met with a kiss, moaning and suckling the tongue that invaded his mouth.

John tried to grumble but he was effectively relaxed by the ministration of the wonderful hands and mouth on his hypersensitive body. Soon, he was reduced to a quivering mass of sensation and groans, the contractions and pains pushed to the furthest recesses of his mind. All he could think of at the moment was the pressure building up in his body and the need to just let go.

As if reading his mind, he could hear his mate crooning at his ear, the voice as dark as melted chocolate, “Yes John, just let go.” At the same time, the grip on his penis tightened as the body behind him shifted away.

With a mighty groan, John released into the pumping fist, his hands gripping onto the headboard. A burst of wind and the rustle of feathers filled the room. John sighed as he lowered his newly released wings that protruded from his shoulder in the place of his scapulas. He still was getting used to his new appendages, these sturdy powerful limbs covered in downy feathers the colour of the dessert sand flecked with black and white spots at the edge, unable to control them at will.

An appreciative hand ran down the area where his wings are attached to his shoulders, pulling a whimper out of his throat. He had learned that they were an erogenous area shortly after he developed them. Still panting, there was another burst of wind as the tall lanky body arranged itself on his back neatly between his wings. He could feel soft feathers tickling his naked body and opened his eyes to the welcoming sight of great magnificent midnight blue wings enveloping his body. If not for the arms securing his body, he would have slumped onto the bed, his limbs too rubbery at the moment to hold his body up.

Much to his surprise the pleasant buzz in his body continued on and started building up again, without any stimulation. He moaned at the building pleasure in his body not realizing that it was a contraction coming onto his body. At its peak, he squeezed his eyes shut and swore at the intense pressure in his body. Sighing as the grip released his body, he leaned into the strong embrace of his mate, turning his head to nuzzle at the neck where the wonderful scent was strongest.

“That’s it John. Just relax and you would be able to progress further. The fear and worry creates tension in your body, preventing it from the natural progression of egg laying.” Sherlock gently put his laboring mate onto his side to avoid crushing the eggs in him. He moved to rub the back of his mate while his free hand weaved his fingers through John’s. The hand gave him a squeeze in appreciation. He was so proud of his chosen mate. Not every human could integrate with Valkyrie DNA that easily. Of course, it helped that John’s ancestry hinted at Scandinavian heritage somewhere in the distant past. Admittedly, he was rather worried when he injected his blood into John’s body however he had weighed the risk of John’s body rejecting the conversion against the benefits of their mating and concluded that it was a risk worth taking.

And now, here they were, at the cusp of parenthood with a clutch large enough to shock the secret Valkyrie society. He still remembered gleefully parading John about in his gravid form at the London Eyrie where Mycroft reside.

***

A whimper, filled with pained pleasure and tinged with panic pulled the detective out of his reverie as the hand tightened its grip on his hand. “Sherlock, I think they’re coming.” John mumbled breathlessly, his voice trailing off into a weak moan.

Sherlock shifted to kneel at John’s legs and proceeded to bent John's left leg out of the way. Deftly, he slipped his fingers into the slicked pliant passage which tightened reflexively at the foreign intrusion. He crooned at his mate, murmuring nonsense as he tried to clear his thoughts of the TIGHTWETHEAT surrounding his fingers and properly assessed John. He could feel the cervix fully dilated and an egg straining against the entrance.

“Your body is ready John.”

“Thank fucking God.” He wheezed as another contraction gripped his body, alighting it with pleasure more intense than he had ever felt before. “I can’t wait for this to be over with.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Well, you’ll have to bear with it a little longer than you’d expect, seeing as you have a clutch of 12 to lay.”

“Ta for reminding me what I’m trying to forget.” John gritted out as Sherlock righted him up and lean the body against him in between his leg, back to his chest. He had one hand resting on the top of the belly while the other languidly stroked a quivering wing.

John couldn’t help but melted at the touch, despite the multitude of sensations wreaking havoc in his body. In his confused state, his mind instinctively honed onto the familiar musky scent of his mate. He could feel an egg the size of a watermelon moving through his body, his vertical position allowing gravity to work in tandem with his body. He moaned at the sensation of fullness in his body, the egg pushing against his pelvic floor muscles and eliciting an uncontrollable urge to push.

Taking a deep breath, he bore down with all his strength, pushing the egg through the tightest part of his passage. The egg muscled through his internal walls, helped by the natural slick his body produced at the advent of his labour. It was a painful yet sensual feeling, being stretched to unimaginable proportion. A whine of confusion passed his lips as he turned and rooted around the pale column of neck presented to him, breathing in the musky scent of home. His mind sang at the deep voice of encouragement.

“That’s it, John. Just follow your instinct.”

Arms came around him and caressed his sensitive abdomen. John gripped the arms around him and gave another push, groaning at the same time as a sharp spike of pleasure coursed through his body. The pleasure kept pulsing and he howled at the overwhelming feeling, struggling weakly against the firm hold on his body as he instinctively tried to get away from the feeling of too-much-pleasure. His erection was rock hard and leaking.

“John! John. Listen to me. This is normal. That is the egg pressing against your prostate. Breathe.”

His lungs expended at the order and he gulped a breath of much needed air, clearing his muddled brain. Shaking his head, he whimpered as the urge to push came upon him again. After a few powerful pushes, he could feel his entrance widening as the egg emerged from his body, his body on fire at the dual sensation of being stretch and the ongoing prostate stimulation. He came as the widest part of the egg passed through his entrance, sobbing, his mind blanked out in pure bliss.

Sherlock could feel his arousal mounting at the sight of his writhing mate bring their clutch into the world. When John came, he loosened his firm grip and reached for the first egg of their enormous clutch. It was smooth and dark in colour, the same shade as his wings with thin streaks of John’s tawny gold, 10 centimeter in length and 8 centimeter at its widest. It was beautiful and perfect. He gently placed the egg into the incubator beside him and returned to wrap his arms around John, muttering sweet nothings into the man’s ear.

***

Sherlock had never orgasm so many times as he had today. His body was exhausted from the hours of exertions and his penis was painfully hard yet again. It was John’s final egg. The poor man had been reduced to an incoherent, blubbering mass of nerves and hormones by then. His eyes were fully dilated, a ring of royal blue against a well of black. His wings were a mess, half of the feathers bent at odd angles from his struggles and writhing. His naked body was coated with sweat and his thighs were wet with slick.

“Mate, last one.” Sherlock grounded out. Even he was reduced to a simple sentence, his brain fighting valiantly against the primal instinct of the Valkyrie in him. His strokes on John’s body had become harsher as the Valkyrie in him took over. But Sherlock persisted and hung onto reality. He bit into John’s scent gland, grounding himself to the taste and scent that made up John – musk, tea, wool and gun oil.

For the first time in hours, he got a verbal response from John. “Yes.” It was monosyllabic but Sherlock could see recognition in those blurry eyes. It took another 15 minutes before Sherlock orgasm in tandem with John as the man delivered the last egg in the clutch – a pure tawny egg.

Both man wheezed and gasp as they recollected themselves. John was already falling asleep as his body shut down, dropping off to a dreamless slumber. Sherlock, however, shook his head in defiance. He took the last egg in his hand, caressing it reverently and kissed it before putting it gently in the incubator with its siblings. He then shut the incubator before struggling out of the bed towards the toilet. Returning with a small pail of warm water and a flannel, he slowly cleaned John, tenderly wiping off the sweat and lubricant from the body. Then, he changed the sheets and proceeded to wrap John in one of the thick blankets that made up their nest.  After a quick shower, he snuggled back into the bed and gathered the pliant body in his arms, arranging their wings and covering them with his massive black ones. He sniffed the damp blonde hair as his eyes drooped, finally giving into exhaustion. His last vision was the incubator pushed against the head of the bed, holding their precious clutch of offspring. 


End file.
